


Red

by undecimber



Series: Hannibal in Lingerie [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, High Heels, Lingerie, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 12:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8208038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undecimber/pseuds/undecimber
Summary: It began with a pair of red heels in Florence.
Young Hannibal saw them on display and, inexplicably, desired them; not on a woman, but for himself.





	

It began with a pair of red heels in Florence.

Young Hannibal saw them on display and, inexplicably, desired them; not on a woman, but for himself. He deliberated for precisely a moment before he entered the store and purchased them.  
Obviously, they weren’t going to fit him. Even the largest size was too small for his long, broad feet. He wanted them all the same.

When he got back to his apartment, he sat on the edge of his bed and opened the shoe box, peeling away the luxuriant tissue paper. The shoes were well-made, elegant and sleek, with 3 inch long heels. In the yellow lamp-light, their colour appeared a deep maroon.

He held one in his hand and examined it, turning it this way and that, watching the way the warm light caught on its gloss. He set it down on the floor and dipped his foot in, then straightened his leg in the air. The shoe dangled off the ends of his toes. He held it, just so, for some moments; then he set it down again, tucked the shoe back into the box, pushed the box under his bed.

That night, Hannibal dreamt of murder: of boring his heel into his victim’s throat while the man thrashed and gurgled. The redness of the blood gushing from the wound was indistinguishable from that of his red shoes. The very same shade. It trickled down when he pulled his foot away, leaving lurid stains on the ground.

The dream was half-forgotten when he woke up; the nascent fascination lingered. He kept the shoes’ receipt and returned them to the store a few days later, because instead, he decided to have a similar pair custom-made for him.

His feet were measured by a shoe maker’s assistant who little endeavored to conceal his distaste, brows furrowed on a sullen scowl the entire time. Unpardonably rude. Hannibal kept an impassive expression while mentally marking him as a prospective meal, and exited the shop with a business card in his pocket.

A fortnight later, the new shoes were delivered to his doorstep. This time, when he put them on, the fit was perfect.

He noted at once the way that they changed his posture –how they pushed his hips forward, how taut his legs felt. He stood before the gilt framed mirror for a long time, admiring the elegant arch they made of his feet. Walking across the room, he was delighted by the assertive staccato that they punched on the hardwood floor. He paced again a number of times, back and forth, until he grew more accustomed to them and was relatively satisfied with how he bore himself. He would have to practice to perfect his walk.

So he did, whenever he felt like it. He would put them on and saunter around the apartment, or stand in front of the mirror, turning his legs this way and that, taking in the pleasing lines of them.  
Soon enough, he was in possession of a pair of fine silk stockings.

It was an afternoon; the thick curtains were drawn back, flooding the bedroom in slanting light. The stockings –sheer dainty things– along with their garters were laid out on the bed. Hannibal looked at them, with a hand on his hip. He decided that he would shave first.

He did it in the bathroom, on the edge of the clawfoot tub, very carefully, lips pursed in concentration. He set the razor aside before washing his legs and toweling them dry. Back in the bedroom, he rubbed them down with lotion.  
The smoothness of his skin felt entirely novel. He rather liked it. When he finally rolled the stockings on, the slide of the silk against it felt lovely.

He put the shoes on and stood up to fasten the garter belt. Then he beheld himself in the mirror.

And smiled.

 

**_-Some 20 years later-_ **

 

“I got you something.“

Hannibal looked up from his book to find Will holding out a box wrapped with a ribbon. He set the book down on his lap. “What is the occasion?”  
“Doesn’t have to be one.”  
"I suppose not.” He put out his hands to receive the present. “May I open it?”  
Will nodded.

He undid the bow, letting the ribbon slither down, and lifted up the lid to look inside.  
There was a pause. Then, calmly, curiously: “How did you know?”

"After– _uh_.” Will thought better than to begin that way. “In Baltimore. Your house was…thoroughly searched by the FBI for evidence–”  
A comprehending look crossed Hannibal’s features.  
“Interesting that a number of women’s items were found among your things. All in your size.”

Hannibal regarded Will for a drawn out moment. "Were you very surprised?”  
“I was. I would have never guessed. Were you ever going to tell me?”  
“Eventually... Yes, I think.” Hannibal’s eyes went down to the shoes; he touched them. “It has been a while.”

“Let me put them on you.”

Will knelt in front of the armchair, by Hannibal’s bare feet. He turned his head up, pausing as if to ask for permission. Hannibal granted it with a nod. Suddenly serious, almost reverent, Will slipped the shoes on, one after the other. He sat on his haunches.

  
“Do you like them?”  
“Very much. Thank you, Will.”  
They were, incidentally, red; pointed at the toes, jet black on the underside.  
"I must admit that considerations of sharing this part of me with you had come with a measure of apprehension.”

Will made a sound not unlike a snort. “I’d say murder and cannibalism were considerably less benign parts of you, but obviously _this_ is where I’m drawing a line.”

Hannibal gave him a very level, very flat look, which only made Will grin.

“I never worried about you _drawing a line_ ,” Hannibal said, and if he were someone disposed to using air quotes, he would have done it right there. “If it were simply unappealing to you, the mere fact would have been a disappointment. It has become… important to me to please you.“

The admission left Will a little stunned. He was yet unaccustomed to Hannibal saying such openly human things to him. Dependent things. Vulnerable things.

He gently placed his hand on Hannibal’s knee. "Tell me what it means to you,” he said.

Drawing a long breath, Hannibal turned his head to the side, giving Will his profile.

"It was an aesthetical experiment. I was curious. I found that I simply liked the way the lingerie looked on me. I enjoyed the ritual of putting it on.”  
“Is it so different from when you usually dress up?”  
“Yes and no.” Hannibal turned his eyes back to Will. “It isn’t so much a marked difference, as it is a heightened sense of decadence. It owes to the delicateness of the garments, the care in handling them. I like the way the soft fabrics feel on me. It pleases me to see myself transformed.”  
“Like you’re someone else?”  
“No. I am completely myself. A slightly different version, perhaps, but still myself.”

“And you’ve never shared this version of you with anyone?”  
“Sexual partners, you mean. No. Other people’s perception of me never factored into it. To be frank with you, it is a purely narcissistic pursuit.”

Will considered this, tilting his head, eyes narrowed. "You reveled in the privateness of it, didn’t you? Like keeping a secret. Presenting a measured exterior to the world, while underneath, you matched your pretty panties to your suits.”

Hannibal actually _laughed_.

  
“Were you ever wearing them around me?” said Will, voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Across from me, as I dined at your table? While we sat in your office and had our conversations?”  
Hannibal’s lips curled up lasciviously. “Yes. Does that excite you?”  
“Yes. Will you show me?”  

“I would love to.”

 

_**-Some days later-** _

 

Will couldn’t stop glancing at the clock on the mantle. His stomach was a knot of nervousness and anticipation. The former was bizarre –he had no reason to be nervous; _he_ wasn’t the one exposing an aspect of himself.

They had been clearing plates off the dinner table when Hannibal informed him that he would be going up to the bedroom, and that Will should follow him in an hour. He hadn’t needed to elaborate. At his pointed look, Will had understood.

At the close of an hour, Will waited an extra minute outside the bedroom door, just for good measure. Then he knocked, once, briskly.

“Come in.”

The sight that greeted Will was this: Hannibal sat on the bed, a leg crossed over the other, looking an utter vision in a glossy scarlet satin robe. His shoulders were an imposing line, hands on either side of him on the bed, chin turned up haughtily. He wore high waisted panties in black. Black lace edged the sleeves of his satin robe, and lacy black garters were fastened to stockings that came up to his mid-thigh.

He looked like himself, yet something else entirely. Sharp and dangerous, and exquisite. He had painted his mouth –his fingernails as well. The bow of his lips, limned so vividly, was sensuous beyond measure.

Uncrossing his leg, he stood up with the fluid grace of a feline. Will came up to him, looking him up and down.  
“Well?” said Hannibal.  
“You’re –stunning.”  
A pleased grin bared the twin points of Hannibal’s canines.  
“And too tall,” Will added.

Hannibal drew Will to him as he sat on the edge of the bed, so that Will was on his knees between his open legs. He liked to have him there. He liked Will’s eyes turned up to him in desire. Slowly, Will rubbed his stubble roughened cheek against the inside of Hannibal’s thigh.

“You shaved.”  
“Yes.”  
“Not here though,” pointing to Hannibal’s chest.  
“You’re too fond of it, I think.”  
Will smiled. “And here?” he said, trailing the knuckle of his finger downwards.  
“Why don’t you see for yourself?”  
Will pulled the waistband of the panties down. The wispy hairs that usually trailed from Hannibal’s navel were gone.

Hannibal put his hands in Will’s hair and pulled him up for a hungry kiss. When he pulled away, breathless, the lipstick that he had perfectly applied was smudged. He touched a finger to Will’s mouth, where it had come off, and smiled. He kissed Will on the cheek, leaving behind another red imprint. Again, on the neck this time. Marking him. _Mine. All mine._

He envisioned having Will naked underneath him, laid out for him, to do nothing but this –to cover in red kisses, from head to toe, fitting in as many as possible. Reapplying the lipstick just to resume pressing his mouth over Will’s entire body. Painting his love all over him.

In a certain respect, the lingerie had been much like the murder. It was just as Will had said –Hannibal had reveled in the fact that no one conceived of what he wore beneath his carefully put together suits; the same way he got away with blatant cannibal puns while serving a meal of someone’s organs to someone else. There had been an undercurrent of contemptuousness of everyone around him. _You don’t know me and you never will. You don’t deserve to._

Will had begun to mouth at his chest, putting his two perfect lips over Hannibal’s nipple.

Will –Will– the only one to have known him – _Will_.  

Hannibal moved back to lie against the pillows and Will moved with him, settling on top of him.

“Make love to me,” Hannibal said.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Will murmured.


End file.
